Grocery Shopping
by AshenWhisper
Summary: "He's writing sad music, doesn't eat, barely talks..." Desparate to get Sherlock out of his funk, John forces him to come along on a stunningly mundane task, getting the groceries. Sherlock barely says a word. Drabble, split into chapters, not slash.
1. You're coming too

"Sherlock," John said when he entered into the main room of the flat. Sherlock was sprawled out on the comfy chair still in his blue dressing gown, gray T-shirt and pajama pants. The TV cast an eerie pale light over the man's transfixed features. John cast a hasty glance to his watch. 17:34. He let out a breath. "Have you been watching that all day?"

Sherlock didn't respond. John noticed his violin propped up against the side of the chair, and glanced to the music stand. _Composing. Again. _

"Obvious," Sherlock said suddenly, in a small, sullen, distant voice. "Dull."

John stepped closer to the television. His eyes narrowed. "Is that... Hannah Montana?"

Sherlock didn't respond.

"An American kid show?" John said. "Really? Is there nothing less crappy on?" Sherlock didn't respond.

John let out a slow breath. "Sherlock, you need to get out of this. It's been a good week since..." He didn't finish the sentence. He knew he wasn't being gentle, but if he came home to Sherlock barely speaking once more he'd go insane. _He should be out solving murders, not watching American tween shows on the telly. _Not to mention the fact that both he and Mrs. Hudson were concerned Sherlock would turn to... less than healthy means of entertainment, if this went on too long. It had been a week since that day in the morgue, and Sherlock had spent 99% of it sitting around or playing the violin wordlessly. John wasn't even sure the last time he'd eaten. _And I'm a doctor. I have to do something. But we also really need groceries..._

He paused. It was mundane and uneventful, but it was a step up from sitting in front of the television all day. "Sherlock..." He wasn't sure how to word it. "I'm going grocery shopping. Get dressed, you're coming too."

Sherlock's eyes looked to him for a moment, then back down to the screen as if playing that he hadn't noticed. John waited a bit, but to no avail.

"Oh come on," John let out a sigh. "I know you haven't eaten, and I know it's been much longer than your usual not eating spells. And what if a case comes up? You'll starve."

Sherlock still didn't reply.

"Fine. If you don't come with me, then we aren't getting any food!" John said, throwing his hands up in mock defeat, and moved over to a chair, sinking into it. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go inform our fans about your impending death, and where to send flowers. Or would you prefer donations to a certain charity?" He looked to Sherlock, who was staring still, but didn't seem to pay an ounce of attention to what was playing. He let out a slow breath. John had to try something different. He pulled open the laptop, and his blog came up quickly. "The counter is still on 1895, Sherlock. It must mean something."

Sherlock mumbled something that sounded like "not the password."

John sighed. "Alright. But look, if you don't want to eat, then I won't stop you. But I won't get another chance for an evening shopping trip until Saturday, I'm catching up with Mike tomorrow night. Can you really make it another two days without eating?" There was a long pause. "You're only mortal, Sherlock."

John waited for a while, but there was no response. He sighed, and looked back at his blog. Looks like he'd lost. He'd be going out by himself and Sherlock would be left to waste away once again. He'd just check his email quickly then get his coat on, admit defeat, and go off to the store. There was nothing else he could do to convince the world's only consulting detective.

"Milk," The quiet voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned around, to the man still staring at the screen.

"What did you say?"

"...We need milk."

John found himself smiling. "Then you'd better get dressed."


	2. We all need you

John stepped into the store, quickly undoing his jacket as warm air replaced the early January chill they'd felt outside. Sherlock stepped in after him. His flat mate's hands were stuck lazily in his pockets, his head frozen straight forward like he was wearing blinders. His hair looked disheveled from the chair, and he hadn't bothered to fix it. He brought his feet together, stopping, but his eyes darted around. His mouth was stuck in a frown, but he looked around like he was looking at civilization for the first time in eons. It had only been... Actually, John wasn't completely sure when the last time Sherlock had been out was. There was the day at the morgue, and then... He frowned. He honestly wasn't sure.

John grabbed a cart and began pushing it.

"Come on," He said, taking off, Sherlock on his heels. It was odd, being followed instead of following. Leading. It was different. John was used to being the doctor who followed the action of the war and picked up the pieces. He was the simple friend that told Sherlock what he thought about Carl Power's shoes and waited for Sherlock to finish up at crime scene. He wasn't the world's only consulting detective. He was the follower. He was the world's only consulting detective's partner. It had gotten him kidnapped, hit across the head with a pistol, and wrapped in explosives. He always seemed to need Sherlock's help. John stole a glance at him. _But all of us need help sometimes. Even him._

He slowed down, reaching the dairy section. "Let's see... Skim or whole, or even two percent. What sort of milk are you in the mood for?" He looked back at him. There was a long pause as Sherlock's eyes locked onto the water jugs. John sighed. "Sherlock, you can't stay this way forever. What kind of milk do you want?" Sherlock looked at John, but didn't respond. John knew Sherlock probably didn't care either way what kind of milk they got, not right now, not in his current state. But someone had to knock him out of this, and as much as John didn't like it, he was the one who had to do it. "Fine. We're getting whole, because goodness knows you need the fat." He pulled the milk out, putting it into the cart, muttering something about 'skin and bones.' Then he was taking off again, Sherlock behind it.

_It's true, isn't it? _John thought to himself. _No one else would get him out of this. _Mrs. Hudson was far too gentle to make Sherlock move on. Mycroft would just frustrate Sherlock more, and LeStrade rarely contacted the two of them when it wasn't to beg Sherlock to take a case to no avail. Molly didn't contact the two of them outside of work, and after the Christmas party, John wasn't sure it would be good if she did. That left... John let out a slow breath. No one. Just himself.

He froze, realizing there wasn't anyone behind him. "Sherlock?" He said. He rolled his eyes, muttering a few choice words as he headed back, glancing around the store. He found Sherlock a short distance away. The man was holding something, looking down at it. John snatched them from him. _Saltine Crackers. _Sherlock looked at John. "What?" The detective muttered.

"You could have told me you were stopping," John said, shoving the crackers into the cart without asking if Sherlock wanted them or not. "Or something." Sherlock locked eyes with him for the first time in a while. "You're like a child, or a dog. I ought to put you on a leash."

Suddenly Sherlock's eyes darted to the ground, and his neck moved with swallowing. He turned past John and began walking in the direction they had been heading on his own. John rushed to his side, which was difficult with a cart. "Sherlock?" He asked.

Sherlock turned his head away from him deliberately. "Well, fine," John said, suddenly unsure of what was happening. Was he annoyed? Upset? John wasn't sure why Sherlock was suddenly avoiding his eyes. He opened his mouth to snap, then stopped himself. _Maybe I should let up a bit. _

"Sherlock, why don't we go and get some tea?" John asked. Sherlock still didn't look at him, but nodded. John took off towards the tea, and was happy to hear his friends footsteps just behind him and to his right.

_Friend. _John noticed the word he'd used in his thoughts as he pushed the cart. _Sherlock calls me his friend and colleague, but he switches a lot. Am I his friend? Or colleague? Do colleagues try and make each other feel better? Do colleagues go out shopping as a means of 'tough love'? _He wondered. Then he reached the teas. There were so many packets to chose from. He grabbed the kind he normally drank off the shelf. He glanced back to Sherlock. "Well?" He put the tea in the cart. "Which kind do you want?"

Sherlock scanned the shelves with his eyes. John was getting tired of his silence. The television couldn't be the only thing to make him talk. He let out a breath.

"Sherlock, tell me which kind you want."

Sherlock looked to John then back to the tea. He grabbed a kind off the shelf, then held it out to John. For a moment John just stood in the isle looking at Sherlock, his thin arm out stretched, the other hanging by his side.

"Is that what you want?"

Sherlock nodded.

"I'm sorry," John said, knowing he needed to make Sherlock start talking. No one could just not talk for so long, not even Sherlock. "I couldn't hear that. Do you want it?" He knew how opinionated the man was.

"Yes," He muttered. _Opinionated. _An idea struck John, and he decided to try it.

John snatched the tea from him, reading the label. "I don't like this kind," He looked to Sherlock. "I don't want to spend my money on it."

Sherlock gave him a look of confusion.

"What?" John said. "Do you have something to say?"

"Yes..." He mumbled,

"What?"

There was a long pause.

"Well if you still aren't speaking, then I'm just going to assume you don't want it. Because based on the way you've been acting, you don't really care either way. Right?" With no response, he shoved the tea back onto the shelf, moving the cart out of the way and standing between it and Sherlock. The man was staring daggers. "Problem?" John asked, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"The tea."

"What about it?" John said, taking a step towards Sherlock, barely catching the whisper.

"I want it." Sherlock mumbled. There was a sort of frustration in the man's cold gray eyes, more than John had seen since before Irene died.

"I'm sorry, could you speak a little bit louder?" John asked.

"I. Want. IT." Sherlock said, his voice almost reaching speaking level.

"What?" John asked.

"I want you to buy the tea!" Sherlock exclaimed. His voice was surprisingly loud, even louder than his normal speech. After a moment the glare disappeared off his eyes, and they widened. The man who had barely given a mumble for an entire week, had just yelled.

John paused for a moment. "Yes. Yes you do." He reached up and grabbed two packs of the tea, putting them into the cart. He turned and pushed the cart. "Come along now." John said, and Sherlock caught up to him swiftly, the man's eyes darting around like he was totally thrown by what he'd just done. John took in a breath, trying to find the words to make his point. "I know you're upset about Irene. But London needs you, Sherlock." He looked forward, his heart pounding faster just thinking about his next sentence. "Moriarty is still out there. And he's probably planning something." He looked over at his... his friend. "We all need you. I can't let you waste away. I don't care how long it takes. I'm not going to let you shut down from this. We need you." Sherlock eyed John as the doctor looked forward once more, and watched as his friend changed course for the coffee. John really was his friend.

John looked at Sherlock upon reaching the isle, talking quieter now that other people were roaming the isle. "'The game' is still on." John said. "So if you won't get your act together than I'm going to make you." He let go of the cart and stepped closer to him, taking control of the situation, speaking in hushed tones. "I was strapped to explosives, Sherlock." Sherlock's lower eyelids twitched. "But I knew that If I shut down we'd be goners. I was terrified, I never wanted to say another word, I wanted to hide from the world. But I tried to kill Moriarty. I didn't shut out the world. I've seen you in action Sherlock. You were on your game that night. You were hurting, and you still did what you had to do." He looked to the coffee, still speaking to Sherlock. "And there are still things you need to do. So I'm not going to let you shut down. Lestrade needs you, and I know helping him will help you get back to where you need to be." He looked back at Sherlock, taking a moment. "So tell me, Sherlock Holmes. What is it you want to do now?"

There was a long pause. Sherlock's hands had ended up back in his pockets, and he looked down at the ground. He swallowed. John shifted his weight onto his right leg. Sherlock let out a slow breath.

"I want to help Lestrade." Sherlock whispered.

"And what about Moriarty?" John asked quietly.

Sherlock looked up at his friend, his eyes suddenly confident, his voice louder. "I want to take him down."

John found a small smile parting his lips. "And what about the coffee?"

Sherlock looked at him, and his lips twitched for a moment. He stepped forward, took one kind off the shelf, and held out his hand.

"Well," John said, taking it from him. "I guess you don't have to talk _all _of the time." A smile came over Sherlock's face. John let it down into the cart and then continued. Sherlock was following, not talking. He didn't say another word as they selected the rest of their food. But that didn't bother John. They'd gotten somewhere, and they'd get further tomorrow. Who knows. Maybe he'd be able to convince Sherlock to go out with him and Mike. _Baby steps, John._ He reminded himself.

They neared the check out counter. John got towards the chip and pin machine line.

"No," Sherlock said. John turned to him, expecting some complaint, but there was a small smile on Sherlock's lips. "You don't have a great history with chip and pin machines."

John found himself snickering. "You're right." He moved the cart into a normal check out line. He paused for a second, then grabbed a chocolate bar off of the shelf and put it down on the counter.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John. "Don't tell me you don't like chocolate?" John said, grabbing another one for himself. "But you have to eat something, and if it takes candy to make you eat, then so be it."

John waited for the woman to finish scanning and bagging the items, then handed her his card. John grabbed a bag, but realized only too late that he only held one handle. The tea boxes fell right out and onto the floor. He cursed and bent down to grab them all. Shoving them back into the bag, he straightened up. He looked to see Sherlock holding the other three bags.

John raised an eyebrow. "You're going to hold those?" This was the man who made John cross London rather than get up and ask Mrs. Hudson to borrow her phone. And here he was, offering to carry the groceries.

Sherlock nodded, and a smile came over his face.

"Why are you smiling, all I did was drop some tea."

"Because," he stepped past John and headed towards the exit. This time it was John who had to keep up.

"Because why?" John asked as they headed out into the cold.

Sherlock looked at him. "You're an idiot."

In spite of himself, John found himself smiling as he walked after Sherlock. Finally, Sherlock was leading again. _Just like it's supposed to be._

I hope you guys liked that! I didn't realize it was going to be so fluffy or so long, I just expected a dry attempt at staying in character. Thanks for everyone who added this to their updates already, and the great review I got between chapters. Please let me know what you thought of it! Thank you so much for reading!

-Ashley


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